Listen - man is a child of Nature. When he turns against his mother - he's done! He may not find out about it right away, but he will.

The snow again. White, white net of beauty, net of dream, trapping the earth, trapping the helpless heart of life.

There is too much doing - too little being! When we begin to get strenuous, life begins to grow intolerable.

Growing old was simply a process of drawing closer to that ultimate independence called death.

The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.

You have stirred the soil with your plow, my friend. It will never be the same again.

A sickness ... defines margins, crystallizes the shape of things.